


Duskfire

by Tepp



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: F/M, Incomplete
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25603828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tepp/pseuds/Tepp
Summary: Some say that the Atronach birthsign is a curse for wizards. Others call it a blessing. For a young girl, it meant all the difference but opened doors that perhaps should not be opened.
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Duskfire was unlucky. She was born under the Atronach constellation, the 30th of Sun's Dusk. Her birthsign stunted her magicka regeneration and squandered her chances as a wizard. She was told that she had the ability to absorb spells, but what kind of idiot wouldn't duck out of the way of a mage's unknown spell? It sounded pretty useless. Had she been born a day later, perhaps she would have become a deadly assassin under the Thief like her childhood friend Ama. If she had been born most things besides a Breton, then she may have been a powerful warrior. But fate had never smiled on her before and she learned to expect the worst. The fact that she was still alive was as good as things would get. She was alone, and her family was lost long ago in a fire she doesn't remember. Duskfire located the Atronach constellation and saw its stars twinkling with laughter at her expense. She couldn't blame them. It was all so funny, wasn't it? 

She learned to live without magic. Years had passed since she replenished her magicka reserves. The orphanage, as wretched as it was, taught her to read. She learned to fight like a Redguard despite her distant Direnni blood. She got used to the heckling from her neighbors in Chorrol, “An angry Breton without magic is like a barking dog without a bite.” Ama was a good thief, but even good thieves can get caught. Duskfire thought perhaps her unluckiness was contagious as she watched her friend being dragged to the courthouse. She didn’t see her again. 

Reading, adventuring, and hunting were the only good things in her life, Duskfire thought. The wilderness filled her with joy and ease. She didn't spend all her time outdoors, however, and felt a constant pull towards an Ayleid ruin or a crumbling fort. 

Tonight, in fact, was one of those nights. Most places she explored had been looted hundreds of years before her, wild animals replacing the terrible guardians that once protected its treasures. The day before, Duskfire spotted the entrance to a gated cave behind some bushes while out hunting for the weekend. Because of its isolation, Duskfire reasoned that it might be untouched, which meant loot that would feed her and pay her rent for months. She marked it on her map and planned to return once she stopped by town to sell her animal pelts. The pelts sold for enough to feed her for a little while, but rent was due in only a couple days. 

It unfortunately took her until sundown in her iron armor to locate the cave again, but it would be dark inside the cave regardless. The old wooden gate had an engraving in a language Duskfire couldn't read, and it squeaked a little as she pulled it open. Within the cave, she sat on the stone floor and listened for a while. Her eyes adjusted a bit to the dark. She dared not light a torch. She was in a tunnel that curved down and gradually to her right. There was an echoing noise she couldn't identify. It was like clicking. Curious, and with adjusted eyes, she sneaked down the tunnel, attempting to spot the source of the peculiar sound before it spotted her. 

She sneaked through several yards of tunnel before meeting a small cavern. She peered inside, trying her best to muffle the sound of her iron boots, but Duskfire knew she was not stealthy. By the opposite cavern wall, she saw a standing form. She tried to make out what it was in the dark but when she saw it, when she really saw it, chills shot down her spine. It was a skeleton, equipped with a war axe and shield. It moved slightly with its back towards her, as if mimicking the breathing it did in life, creaking and clicking its bones. She had never seen one before and was almost as excited as she was scared. 

As slowly as she could, she pulled her iron shield from her back and slid out her steel longsword from its sheath. She stood up from her crouching position slowly, hoping to take the skeleton by surprise. She had about twenty feet between her and her target. Taking a deep breath, she counted, five, four, three, two...

Duskfire charged the skeleton, who turned toward the commotion she made. She brought down her sword between its neck and shoulder, hoping to decapitate it, but her sword just stuck itself between the skeleton's bones. It didn't take the skeleton long to react, it's eyeless skull turning to look at her. The chills began again. She froze. It lifted its war axe, its shield arm seemingly rendered useless by her sword. Seeing this, Duskfire threw herself to the side, landing ungracefully on the floor but evading the skeleton's vengeful axe. While on her back, she saw the skeleton step toward her and bring down its axe upon her. This time she pulled her heavy shield toward the axe and balled herself behind it, keeping most of her body covered. The skeleton wailed mercilessly on the shield, creaking and clicking angrily. Terrified, Duskfire tried her best to think of what to do. The skeleton struck her shield again, this time much, much harder, and her shield collided with her helmet. Suddenly, she had an idea. Quickly, she planted her feet on the ground and sat up, using both arms to bash her shield against the skeleton. While it was staggered, Duskfire ran towards the opposite wall and removed her helmet. The skeleton quickly recovered and charged toward her. With all her might, she threw the helmet at the skeleton’s head skull, hoping the blunt weight on the helmet would be more effective than her blade. Its skull was knocked from its body, and the magic that bound its bones together released, dropping to the floor in pieces. 

Duskfire felt relieved but sweaty. Hammers and blunt weapons would work better the next time she faced a skeleton, she noted. She gave herself a few minutes to recover. The sweat that had pooled in her hair cooled rapidly in the cold cavern air. She spotted a chest a few feet away and gathered her strength to investigate. The chest, unlocked, contained a measly three gold septims. 

“Perhaps my luck is turning around,” Duskfire said sarcastically. She took the gold, stashing it away in her pathetically deflated coin purse. Her body was sore, her armor in disrepair, her dignity bruised. If she was going to make this escapade worth her time and effort, she had to continue deeper within the cave. She walked, fatigued by the dwindling adrenaline. 

When she felt an icy sensation throughout her body, paralyzing her, her useless limbs did nothing to cushion her fall. When her head hit the ground, everything went black. 

Duskfire heard a distant humming that got louder the harder she concentrated on it. Her head throbbed, but the pain felt distant. Everything was black but she saw a very small light, like a star. The star seemed to grow until she could see what was inside. It was like a tear in a black cloth, frayed void around the edges. Within it, she saw a tall figure with his back to her adorned in dark, thorny armor. It glowed red in some parts. She recognized the armor from a sketch in one of her books. It was daedric, a legendary armor. The humming sound was coming from the man. His hands, bereft of gauntlets, were a deep reddish brown, like clay. His short hair was inky black. He seemed to be working over a desk. Working on what, she couldn't see, but it made squelching noises that made her stomach turn. Something wasn't right. She must have made a noise because the figure stopped humming and turned to her. 

His face was alien. Black horns protruded and bent back from his forehead, running along his slick backed hair. Clay-colored ears stood pointedly beside his head. His mouth, a dark purple. His eyes a bloodlust red. Even more terrible, his voice- 

“Well, you're not supposed to be here,” he spoke, almost kindly if it weren't for the horrible rasping. At his words, Duskfire felt a strong force jerk her away from the alien man, away from the light, throwing her so fast she could barely keep up with the distance she was traveling, like being woken from a dream. 

She woke with a gasp in a chair. Her eyes were wide, taking in unfamiliar surroundings. It was a dimly lit cavern with furniture one would expect in a bedroom. In the center, a glowing ring of candles surrounded a geometry you'd find in a book about conjuration. If the coffins gave her any indication, this was necromancy. Duskfire's head was throbbing with very real pain. 

“Having a bad dream? I should tell you, it's not over yet.” Duskfire whipped her head to the left to see a woman clad in purple robes. She was an Altmer, her golden skin glowing in the candlelight. The woman smiled at her; teeth like a wolf’s about to devour a rabbit. Realizing she was bound in rope to the chair, Duskfire struggled. Her wrists were trapped on the tops of her thighs, her torso strapped to the back of the chair, and her legs bound together by the ankles. 

“Hush now, my sweet. I have something thrilling in store for you. I have so many experiments to run. Darling, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you,” the woman said with a sigh, sliding over to a desk covered in alchemy instruments. 

“You've been waiting for me? Do you know me?” Duskfire said dumbly. 

“No, I don't know you. I've been waiting for someone like you. It didn't have to be you, but yet here you are. Very lucky indeed,” the woman replied. 

“Someone like me? You mean someone alive?” Duskfire said, noting the skeletons that littered the floor, not unlike the one she disposed of earlier. 

“No, well yes. I’ve been waiting for a Breton wizard. Now, no more questions. I'd like to start my experiments now, and I can't be distracted by your words.” 

Duskfire had gotten herself into some real shit. She was no wizard, but worse assumptions have been made about her being Breton. She realized she was naive to go into an isolated cave alone. She also realized that no one would miss her if she was gone. Although the innkeeper might miss her rent. 

“First,” the high elf began, “I'd like to test some of the poisons I've developed. You see, my magic makes me superior in every way. Weapons used against me disintegrate in a warrior's hand. Arrows bounce off my magical shield. My only weakness, as a High Elf of course, is magic. Ironic, isn't it? The thing that grants me such incredible power can also reduce me to ash. In order to achieve true invincibility, I must render wizards like you entirely useless against me. That means taking away their magic. I have here,” the woman displayed a bottle of orange liquid between her elegant fingers, “a potion that eats magicka. Theoretically, it is the strongest poison I have ever created. I've been absolutely dying to see it in action.” The woman uncorked the bottle and stepped over to Duskfire, golden eyes glittering. 

Duskfire almost smiled back. She hadn't had magicka to spend in years. The potion would do nothing, and the results of the necromancer's experiment would be faulty. Of course, Duskfire wouldn't tell her that. Even if she dies now, at least she served a purpose, no matter how small. Tears welled up in her eyes despite the sentiment. 

The Altmer poured the liquid onto a silver dagger and sliced into Duskfire's arm unceremoniously. The cut stung harshly and bled down to her elbow. Duskfire felt nausea cloud her head, a sensation she imagined would be concurrent to the draining of one's magicka. The cavern spun gently. 

“How do you feel?” the necromancer asked, her face serious. 

“I feel dizzy, like my magicka is leaving me,” Duskfire replied, trying to hide her subversion. 

“Try to cast a spell. A harmless one, mind you. I won't hesitate to kill you if you disobey me.” Duskfire thought briefly of pretending to cast a spell but judging by the scrutiny of the high elf's gaze, she would see right through that. Duskfire closed her eyes and thought long and hard about a spell to cast. She remembered one Ama taught her which lifted the tumblers of a cheap lock. Duskfire focused and mustered up her magic. When she tried to cast the spell on a set of drawers in front of her, nothing happened. 

“No surprise there. Good,” she cooed. The necromancer took some notes on a slip of parchment on her desk, “Now, on to my next experiment. Those with natural resistances to magic, such as Orcs or Bretons, make me vulnerable," she explained. "This experiment requires a primary and secondary spell. The first is a spell I created should damage the target's resistance to magic. The second spell should kill a person of your race if the primary spell functions correctly.” Duskfire's heart sank and she knew fate would not smile on her. It was odd being told she was about to be murdered. Duskfire always thought it would be a surprise. 

An orange glow grew within the elf's hand, and she cast the spell at Duskfire, who felt the results instantly: a sharp tingling deep within her skin. It worked, and she knew what would come next. With a smile, the high elf summoned a bright fireball in the same hand. Duskfire shut her eyes, not wanting to watch the end. She wanted her last moment to be hers alone. The necromancer threw the ball of flame, its heat made itself known to Duskfire's skin and its light bled through her eyelids. But the burn she expected never came. 

Duskfire opened her eyes and saw the bewilderment in the high elf's face. “This isn't right! What went wrong?” the elf said, a tantrum beginning. Duskfire looked down at her body, at her hands, and saw that they were unscathed, except the cut on her arm. She then noticed a power in her that she hadn't felt in a long time. She absorbed the spell. The Atronach saved her life. 

Both women seemed to realize it at the same time. “YOU! WHAT IS YOUR BIRTHSIGN?” the high elf shrieked. 

Before she really knew what she was doing, Duskfire cast a blast of flames at the high elf, who was momentarily blinded by fire. Duskfire burned through the ropes that kept her arms bound and she cast another fiery spell. The onslaught seems to keep the elf busy and Duskfire took the moments between spells to burn the rest of her ropes. She still had plenty of magicka, so she threw a bigger fireball at the high elf, who screamed in pain this time. This one seemed to pass her resistances. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, and Duskfire was in turmoil. Another fireball, less certain. The necromancer's body hunched over onto the floor, but she was still screaming. Duskfire didn't wait for the screams to stop. She bolted to the door, through the tunnels, and saw the gate etched with symbols whose origins she now recalled. It was daedric. The image of a figure in black armor flashed in her mind. 

But Duskfire kept running. She had seen plenty of deaths. Why did this one affect her so? She kept running until she could run no more, her iron armor weighing her down like her heavy heart. Another image flashed across her mind's eye. It was a burning house. The flames crackled and devoured everything, even the screams. 

Night had passed while in the cave. The sky was blue with the early morning sun. She saw Chorrol in the distance and hoped it wouldn't be long before she was in her bed in the inn. 

Zavilix brushed the hair out of his face with his hand. He was working in his lab, a large room on the first floor with one door to the outside on his left and an archway to a corridor leading to the rest of the tower on his right. His desk was covered in an array of organic parts, some human, some not. He was brewing potions. It was a hobby. And that's what he told them when they asked. If he wasn't concentrating so hard, he probably wouldn't have noticed the scent. No, it was not the smell of calcinating Harrada or boiling flesh. It was sweet, but not like the smell of decay. Nothing at his desk could be making such an aroma. Zavilix stopped his humming. He turned around only to be met, face to face, with a human woman. 

She floated within some sort of portal. He half expected to see Nirn, in all its living glory, behind her. But all was black. She was floating in the void, her long brown hair swirling, unaffected by gravity. Her green eyes were huge with surprise and fear at the sight of him. If anything, Zavilix thought, he should be the one surprised. 

“Well, you're not supposed to be here,” he informed her. He felt his instincts kick in and knew he must not let her enter this realm alive. But just as he thought that, she was pulled back violently by an invisible force and she disappeared just as quickly as she appeared. 

The portal showed a truly empty void then, remaining open despite its host's absence. Without thinking, Zavilix reached his hand through the portal.


	2. Chapter 2

When Duskfire stepped through the city's gate, a wave of relief hit her so hard that tears burst from her eyes. She let her hair fall in front of her face to hide them, and she recalled the path to the inn while staring at her boots. The necromancer's spell wore off mere minutes ago as she hiked towards Jorl's Boarding. In her room, she stepped over piles of books and methodically released the belts and straps holding her armor in place. The metal plates fell with a thunk and she fell, too, into her bed. 

She felt the weight of her limbs and a throbbing in her head as the events came back to her. She almost died. The realization boiled within her for some time as she lay, staring at the ceiling with furrowed brows. She was angry. Mostly towards herself for running and letting her past affect her so entirely. But she was also angry at the necromancer who forced Duskfire to kill her in such a horrific manner. The feeling of hopelessness stayed with her, despite her victory. 

When Duskfire remembered the feeling of the flames erupting from her hands, the hair rose on her arms. The magic made her feel… whole. Like she had potential far greater than being a shitty adventurer. But, she was sore everywhere and sleep took her abruptly. Her rest was dreamless. 

Hours later, Duskfire woke with the sun in her eyes. Its rays bled through a split in the curtains and she knew it must be mid-afternoon. She dressed in a loose gown and headed downstairs to the inn's dining lobby. 

“Evening, Dusk. I haven't seen you since yesterday morning! How goes the hunting?” Jorl, the innkeeper, said from behind the bar. The tips of his flaxen hair brushed the tops of his shoulders. 

“Yeah, hunting. Probably would've been a better idea,” Duskfire replied, slouching into a stool before the bar. 

“What were you up to, then?” he said. His gray eyes watched her carefully, serious now. Jorl was a hard man with fair features. Light eyes, blonde hair, pale skin. Typical for a Nord. Duskfire self-consciously crossed her arms on the table, avoiding eye contact with him, and holding her pained head. 

“I found this cave yesterday,” she began. “Thought it would be good for looting. Might even be good sword practice had there been a couple bandits.” 

“I'm guessing there weren't any bandits?” 

“No, there was a skeleton and...” 

“Conjurers or necromancers?” Jorl said. Duskfire finally looked at him. He met quite a few adventurers in his time and knew what skeletons in a cave meant. He also knew Dusk could have managed a lone skeleton. There had been something else that gave her that look in her eyes. 

“Necromancers—rather, one necromancer. I barely made it out of there.” She thought about telling him more, like mentioning the terrifying dremora she envisioned while unconscious. But she willed herself not to speak of it. She didn't know what it meant, or if it was even real. 

“I see,” he said, cleaning a glass. “I'm glad that you're alright.” Duskfire was glad he didn’t press. Jorl popped the cork out of a beer and slid it down the bar to her. Duskfire looked at him, confused. “On me,” he said. Duskfire smiled at him, taking a sip. It was cheap, but she felt spoiled. 

“Thanks, Jorl.” 

“Rent's due tomorrow,” he said with a smile. The reminder brought Duskfire wholly back to the present. Duskfire laughed nervously, taking a few more sips from the beer. She had planned to pay rent by selling the treasure from that cave. At the time, running out of there was the only thing she could think of. She sighed, knowing what she had to do. She finished her beer and walked up the stairs to the third floor. In her room, she changed back into her armor which was bent and chipped in some areas. She grabbed her large satchel that had some supplies but remained mostly empty. She was going back to that cave and getting her damn treasure. 

“I'll be back in the morning. Don't think I'm trying to skip out on rent,” she said to Jorl, who nodded and waved as she walked through the door. 

She knew exactly where the cave was which saved some time, though the sun was fully set by the time she reached the gate. The moons' light poured onto the etchings. Duskfire ran her hands across the symbol, committing them to memory. She stepped through the gate which squeaked and guided herself with her hand on the tunnel's wall as she walked. It was dark, but she had been here before and knew the way. When she entered the first cavern, she saw the skeleton's bones scattered about the floor. Its axe and shield were rustic and dull and wouldn't be worth enough to carry. She grabbed a femur and chipped away some bonemeal with a dagger from her satchel. She also found her helmet and put it on. She moved on, walking through a length of twisting tunnel that the necromancer probably dragged her through while she was knocked unconscious. By this time, Duskfire's eyes adjusted to the darkness. The tunnel didn't stretch for very long before another cavern appeared before her. It was the necromancer's room, the one from before. She imagined that the ruckus she caused defeating the skeleton would have been heard easily from here. A wisp of burning flesh still lingered and it filled Duskfire with dread. She looked fearfully over to where she left the necromancer in a burning heap, but there was only charred stone. The necromancer was gone. 

Suddenly terrified, Duskfire stood very still, halting her breathing to listen to her surroundings carefully. All was quiet. She looked around and saw no other path. Carefully, Duskfire searched the room, but did not find her. She was alone, and the thought eased her a bit. The necromancer must have left. Maybe the Altmer feared that Duskfire would return to finish the job. Wherever she went, Duskfire reasoned, she wouldn't have gone far with those injuries. She was likely dead, by either succumbing to her wounds or the many dangers of the Colovian Highlands. 

While fearing for her life, Duskfire was unable to completely take in her surroundings last time. The room was furnished quite nicely, despite its location. If one ignored the looming necromantic circle in the center, complete with skeletons and purple candles, it was almost homey. It was lit softly with lanterns on the walls and standing candelabras. It contained a double bed covered with wool blankets, no doubt to combat the chilly cavern air. There was a working area with alchemy instruments, an enchanting table, and cupboard with, upon further inspection, soul gems and alchemy ingredients. She found some incense and lit it to mask the smell of her burn victim. But what really caught Duskfire's eye was several large bookshelves filled with tomes and scrolls and bits of parchment. Investigating closely, Duskfire found some of the literature to be written in several different languages. The potential knowledge contained here could be enormous. Excited, Duskfire casually slipped into a book she could read, and could focus on nothing else. 

As soon as Zavilix's hand passed through the portal, he felt a hot electric current run through his body like a shock spell. He jumped and jerked his hand back, but the damage had already been done. The portal closed with a vacuum of air and something had been changed, but Zavilix couldn't identify exactly what. It was certainly something irrevocably dangerous. Or perhaps it was something amazing. Zavilix could quite put his finger on it. He was excited and afraid all at the same time. 

“What was that?” a guttural voice spoke and Zavilix identified it as Xentithar, his commander. Zavilix turned around immediately. The Commander stood in the archway between Zavilix's lab and the corridor. He looked just like any dremora and, Zavilix presumed, was hardly distinguishable from himself. The daedroth had clay colored skin although a little lighter than his, dusty black hair that was a little longer than his, but the same piercing red eyes that all dremoras had. 

“It was the wind,” Zavilix said. 

“I know it was wind, Zavilix. I'm asking where it came from!” Xentithar spoke gruffly. Not wanting to provoke his superior any more, Zavilix thought up an answer. 

“I was trying to test a new spell; I suppose it got out of hand.” Well, he never said he was going to answer honestly. This portal… the change. It was all too delicious to share. He wanted this, whatever it was, all to himself. 

“A wind spell, Zavilix? Don't waste your time. The most useful elemental spells are fire, frost, and shock. And if you ask me, the most important of those is fire. Stop being an idiot,” Xentithar said, walking away in a huff. Alone, Zavilix cracked a smile. He fooled him and his secret was safe. All to myself. 

At that thought, Zavilix suddenly stopped smiling. He found the change. A shot of adrenaline ripped through him. His whole body started shaking with the realization and he grabbed his desk to steady himself. He's always been the rebellious type, the outcast, but this was too far. He tricked his superior so that he could keep a secret that could put his home and his clan – even his god – in danger. He should have warned his fellow clansman. He should have acted as Mehrunes Dagon would have wanted him to act… and yet… he could no longer feel his king's will upon him. His connection had been severed by the zap. 

Just then, he heard a knock on the door. It was as if the fates decided he wouldn’t have a moment alone with his panic. 

“Zavilix..?” called a female voice. Zavilix panicked. Would she notice the change? A spider daedra entered the room through the door. Her long silver hair was braided over her shoulder, adorned with a daedric band across her head. Her lips were painted a poison green. Her fully black eyes sparkled with glee. 

“Ameliav. What brings you to my lab?” Zavilix said, trying his best to sound nonchalant. She was his friend, though many assumed they were sleeping together. 

“Your lab? This is just a storage room you usurped for your own needs, 'Lix,” she said as her eight legs tapped on the hard-stone floor, stepping towards him. 

“A storage room that was heavily under-used. It's a fully functioning space now. Be reasonable,” Zavilix pointed out. 

“I don't care to continue this conversation. It’s a bore,” she said rolling her eyes. “The reason I'm here is I need you to do me a favor.” The glimmer returned to her eyes. 

“Exciting” Zavilix said flatly, trying to put his thoughts on the present. 

“The Spiders and I are throwing a celebration in a few weeks. We were wondering if you'd make us refreshments, you see. I know you're handy with an alembic,” she winked as she spoke. Zavilix caught her meaning. 

“You just want me to make you alcohol?” Zavilix felt insulted. He could brew many wondrous elixirs that had extraordinarily better effects than drunkenness. “What do I get out of this?” 

“You can come! Oh, and I'll owe you one,” she said while batting her eyes. Always the mischievous type. 

“I see,” Zavilix said. Female dremoras were exceptionally rare, and even rarer were beautiful ones. Besides the flame atronachs who were painfully hot to the touch and who wouldn’t be interested anyway, spider daedra were the only feminine creatures in his plane of Deadlands. It was not unusual here for heterosexual dremora to have relationships with the spider daedra, but Zavilix preferred not to. He really couldn't get over the spider legs. Ameliav knew this, which is probably why they were able to become friends. 

“Thanks, 'Lix,” she paused, “Hey, are you doing alright?” Zavilix froze momentarily. She noticed the change. Normally he'd confide in her, but again he felt the secret too precious to speak of. An answer found its way to the forefront of his brain. 

“I'm fine. Just got scolded by Commander Xentithar moments ago. I can't do anything around here without angering him, it seems,” he said, which was mostly true. 

“Does that guy have a staff up his arse, or what? I saw him pass by outside with that look on his face. Your people are always the stiff type, but there's none stiffer than Xentithar,” she said with disgust. Zavilix knew she was saying that partially because she was still angry with him. 

“I'd have to agree. Anyway, I'll let you know when the brew is done,” Zavilix said. Truthfully, he needed to rid of her. He needed to figure out exactly what had happened to him, or what kind of magic was affecting him. Getting the hint, Ameliav left with a wave.


	3. Chapter 3

Duskfire found herself drawn to the books on conjuration. They described distant realms, foreign creatures, and powerful weapons. It was a world outside her own, and entirely real. She read about the daedra, and how they served Daedric Princes. Most notably however, were the passages about the dremora, and how a powerful sorcerer could summon one to do her bidding. The idea thrilled her and frightened her. Great power could be obtained here and Duskfire shook with anticipation. The feeling of wholeness returned. Perhaps it had been the beer on an empty stomach, but she felt better than she had for a long time. 

It was late then, and Duskfire realized she had to spend the night in the cavern. The idea of staying here permanently crossed her mind, but she wasn't sure how she felt about that yet. It was the former home of a powerful, invincibility-obsessed necromancer who tried to kill her as part of her many experiments. All these things were her things. Duskfire felt if she stayed here, she might become like the necromancer by association. Uncomfortably, Duskfire crawled inside the woolen bed but fell asleep shortly. 

Her dream faded away. She couldn't remember what she was dreaming about, just that she had been dreaming. Everything had been replaced by blackness, and she knew she was in the void once again. She looked around for the little light, the star among the black. Duskfire was fearful to see the dremora again, truly an image out of a nightmare, but curiosity and her hunger for knowledge got the better of her. She saw a glimmer in the distance, and she willed her body to move toward it. The light grew bigger, and the tear eventually came into focus once again. Through the tear, she could not see the dremora, but it did not appease her fear in the slightest. She noted the architecture and tried to match it to the many planes of which the Princes ruled. Just then, she saw movement. 

The dremora appeared. Duskfire made note that he seemed to be coming from under an invisibility effect. He had been watching her this whole time. She realized that this time he prepared for her. 

“You again. Is this going to become habitual?” he said. Duskfire was taken back by how he spoke to her. He seemed… casual. She stared at him blankly. “Can you understand me? What language do you speak?” 

“I understand,” she responded finally. “This is just… very strange. Is this, perhaps, the Deadlands? Ruled by Mehrunes Dagon?” She couldn't help herself but ask. Zavilix wanted to answer her. 

“It is. What business do you have here?” Zavilix said. Not only did he have to answer her, he didn't even want to lie. 

“No business in particular. I don't know what's going on. Is this a dream?” She felt dumb as soon as she said it. Might as well have asked him to pinch her. When she imagined him touching her, it scared her. 

The dremora rifled through some books as he replied to her, “It is not a dream. This is real, and very serious. I ask you to treat it as such,” he said. “Are you a powerful conjurer, by any chance?” 

“No.” 

“Hm.” 

“Why?” she asked him. Again, he felt compelled to reply honestly. 

“The research I've done on this… event suggests a conjurer of incredible power would be able to open a rift to another realm. It seems to me you are using the Void to connect yourself, or perhaps transmit your spirit, to my realm. I take it you're from Nirn?” he said, not looking up from his book. 

“Nirn?” Duskfire asked. She then recalled the word from her research. Nirn was her realm, all Tamriel and everything else, also called Mundus. “Yes. I'm from Cyrodiil, to be exact. I live in Chorrol.” Zavilix wasn't sure why she trusted him with this information. He knew humans were suspicious of daedra, which was not without merit. She must be very dumb or very confident in her ability to protect herself. Looking at her, he assumed the former. She was very young. Imperial, if he were to guess. 

Duskfire didn't know why she was telling him all of this. She was nervous and scared, sure. But she practically gave him her home address. Superficially, Duskfire knew not to trust daedra, especially those in service to Mehrunes Dagon. But deep inside, she felt connected to him. Whether it was by an evil magic or a force of destiny or something else entirely, Duskfire couldn't tell. 

“I see,” he said. 

“I don't understand any of this. You say I opened a rift to your realm, but I remember doing no such thing. I am not a conjurer, nor a wizard for that matter. And who's to say I will come back to this place? This could all just be an accident. I never wanted to be here in the first place,” Duskfire said. Zavilix could feel her frustration. He then had an alarming feeling of wanting to touch her, but he quickly resisted it, hiding his bafflement. Zavilix hoped she wouldn't discover her power over him. A dremora who can't lie is hardly a dremora. Who knows what else she could do? He thought of testing it, but he had to do so carefully and covertly. 

“Twice is hardly an accident. I certainly did not open this portal, and I imagine that if I could, I would have done so much earlier in life. We do not understand the characteristics of this phenomenon. I suggest we begin testing. It will require your participation, of course,” the dremora offered. Duskfire looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. She too, wanted answers, and it seemed he would help her get them. 

“Okay. What do you suggest we do?” 

“First thing's first,” Zavilix said. Without much more warning, he stretched his hand out toward her. Duskfire felt reminded of some gentlemanly gesture, but soon realized he was slowly reaching within the portal. She had begun to feel safe in her void, comforted by the separation between them, but these feelings quickly dissipated as his fingers pierced the portal. Duskfire swallowed a yelp. 

Zavilix felt a light tingling sensation throughout his body once he touched through the portal. One could say it was pleasant. It was nothing like the shock he felt the first time. He grabbed at the nothingness, checking for ether, but there was no sign of anything but the human girl within that portal. A tiny feeling of fright appeared within him. He looked from his hand to the girl, and saw her face was full of terror. 

“I apologize,” he said without thinking. Here was a dremora apologizing to a human. How absurd. Though he literally couldn't help but empathize. He was mildly aware that these feelings were not his own. “I didn't mean to scare you,” he spoke softly. 

Duskfire felt a little better, then. He didn't seem to want to hurt her. His voice was softer, but still raspy. He seemed to be put off-guard when he saw her face. She must have been looking just as scared as she felt. She chastised herself for her cowardice. 

“I'm okay,” she lied. “What's next?” 

“It seems as though I can enter the portal, but we must make sure that it is not just one-way,” he said. 

“Do you mean...?” Duskfire trailed off. 

“I mean that we must find out if you can leave the portal.” Zavilix opened his hand to her, and Duskfire understood that he intended to help her step out into the plane of Oblivion. 

“For the last time, I won't hurt you!” Zavilix yelled, his patience with the girl lost some time ago. He understood her reluctance, only the bravest would dare venture within his realm. 

“I know! I know you won't! I'm just… ugh! Fuck me!” Duskfire exclaimed. 

"All you must do is take my hand!" After ten minutes of persuading her gently, he was beginning to feel offended. 

Duskfire took one last breath and grabbed his hand. To say he was taken aback was an understatement. He pulled on her hand slowly, until it pierced the other side of the portal into his realm. 

“So, I guess the portal is officially two-way,” she said, apologetically. 

“Indeed," he let go of her hand. 

“You said I might be transmitting my spirit here instead of my actual body. How do we figure that out?” 

“Good question. This is a tangible form, since we've concluded that I'm able to touch you, but I have a theory,” Zavilix said, grabbing a book off a nearby table. He offered the book to Duskfire, who went to take it from him. The moment when her hand closed around the binding, her fingers slipped through it. 

“Oh! I see! I am unable to interact with anything in this realm, excluding you. This must be my spirit form, and you're just the exception. Which means,” Duskfire said, excited by the newly found knowledge, “I can walk through walls." At this bizarre statement, Zavilix couldn't help but laugh. She seemed surprised at such a sound coming from him, but smiled at him and joined in. Zavilix hated himself for liking the sound. 

“It occurs to me,” Duskfire began, “that we have not introduced ourselves. My name is Duskfire.” 

“Duskfire? Is that a usual name in your realm?” Zavilix said. He tried to distract her with a question to prevent revealing his name, but it was a halfhearted attempt at best. 

“I don't think so. I'd ask my parents where in oblivion it came from, but they're dead. What's your name?” 

“Zavilix,” he said, “A completely normal name.” Duskfire raised an eyebrow but was pulled back suddenly. The speed and force of the pull would have knocked the wind out of her, but instead she woke with a gasp. 

Several weeks had passed since Duskfire and Zavilix first met. Every time Duskfire slept inside the Necromancer's cavern, she was able to visit Zavilix. The circumstance of their meetings never became less strange, but they became friends despite everything. They learned that the daedric words carved into the cave's gate were a type of rune, one that enhanced an occupant's conjuration. The origin of the carving was still mysterious, but Duskfire suspected the Necromancer. Zavilix wasn't as sure. 

Incredibly, they discovered that Duskfire’s spiritual form could transport items from Nirn to the Deadlands, which Zavilix used to supplement his supply of alchemical ingredients. Plants from Nirn were becoming increasingly rare everywhere in the Deadlands. Their last supply was taken during the Mundus Invasion 500 years ago when daedra and dremora were free to walk Nirn and satisfy their lord's lust for destruction. Alchemy was not on her mind when she first tried and successfully did bring Zavilix a flower. She should have known better than to assume a dremora would understand the courting rituals of man. His raspy voice and dark horns thrilled her rather than scaring her, now. His hands were large, his cheekbones high. She cursed the armor she once admired for concealing his body so completely. His masculine form was miraculously quite attractive to her. But the flower incident deflated her courage, and she decided it would be better if their relationship stayed where it was. 

In return for her deliveries, Duskfire learned a lot about magic from Zavilix and was quickly able to summon a basic skeleton on her own. Zavilix mentioned on several occasions that she was a natural, and that she would outgrow him and his “basic knowledge,” as he put it. 

Everything seemed to be okay. Duskfire enjoyed every minute she had with Zavilix and learned as much as possible. She hungered for knowledge and power. She didn't want to be weak anymore. Zavilix tutored her while her body slept, and she studied the Necromancer's books when she woke. She sold the books when she learned all she could from them. She gave Jorl her last rent payment on time and told him she found somewhere else to live. Jorl seemed to disapprove but whether it was because he would no longer get paid or because he worried for her safety, Duskfire didn't know. Honestly, she didn't care to know. Her life had a steady rhythm of discipline and self-improvement and Duskfire was happier than she had been in a long time, perhaps ever. 

Zavilix was thoroughly entertained by the girl. His lesser in every way, she posed no threat and supplied him with ingredients for his potions and experiments. He brewed Ameliav and her guests wine from the grapes Duskfire brought him. Although he had fully intended to stay at the party, he found himself drawn back to his study where he knew Duskfire would be waiting for him. Although he saw her almost every night, he had to see her. He was becoming a sort of recluse. He slipped through the back door and headed up the hill to his lab. He avoided bumping into anyone on the way. He stepped inside his room and lit a torch. Before he could light any more, Duskfire appeared. 

“Zavilix? It's a bit dark in here, I could barely find the portal,” she said. Zavilix saw her in the dim light and noticed the way her pallid skin seemed to glow. He looked at her fondly, letting his guard down. He wasn't visible to her eyes in the dark and stole the precious moments where he could look at her the way he truly wanted to. Her looks were foreign to him: her smooth skin and pale green eyes. Her long brown hair that had waves like the ocean he had only seen once in his long life. When he first met her, perhaps he was very strange looking. He could only imagine what he must have looked like to her, what he must look like to her now. He felt very ugly next to her and his insecurity only seemed to grow when she brushed her hair behind a rounded ear. How cliché that a demon like himself would fall for a goddess. Like they were two sides of a coin, daedra and aedra. He only allowed himself a moment to ponder this, before lighting the other torch. 

“My apologies,” he said without any true feeling. 

"What's todays lesson about?" 

"I'm not feeling up to a lesson today." 

"What's wrong?" 

"I'm having bad feelings. Nothing I want you to help with." Duskfire almost pouted. He was reminded how young she was, and he felt, as he often would, disgusted by himself. 

"Then perhaps we could read together?" 

He would not deny her this. He grabbed a book and settled in a chair facing the tear. She, too, brought a book, and they read. After some hours, Duskfire broke the silence. 

"I've been wondering, Zav." 

"Yes?" He said without looking up from his book. 

"Where do we go from here?" she said softly. When Zavilix looked at her, it physically pained him. "What's a human and a daedra supposed to be to each other? I never let the stories taint my vision of you, you aren't a trickster or a murderer. You're kind and intelligent. You've never been dishonest." 

"It's dishonest to say things like that about me." 

"Why?" 

The question magically forced his mouth. "I’ve lived a long life and have murdered plenty. As for lying, I don't have a choice in the matter." 

Duskfire looked confused. She supposed she could be called a murderer as well, with a few slain bandits under her belt. An attempted murderer too, if she counted the Necromancer incident. But the lying? "What do you mean?" She asked. 

Zavilix wanted to lie. He wanted so badly to lie, because telling her would irreversibly change their friendship. Power over a daedra was a powerful tool, but it was dangerous for the daedra. So, his people try to trick the conjurers that summoned them, so that there would be a danger on the other side, too. He viewed his ability to lie and cheat as fundamentals. He wanted Duskfire and him to stay the same. But the magic compelled him. 

"It's magic. I cannot lie to you. I must answer your questions. And..." he caught himself. 

Duskfire had a strange look on her face. "And?" Again, the magic forced it out anyway. 

"And I can feel what you feel. Empathy as I've never felt it, even with my own kind." He searched her face for betrayal. 

"What?" Duskfire was crushed. "All this time, you didn't tell me." 

"How could I?" he pushed his hair back, feeling uncomfortable. 

"We're friends, aren't we?" Tear swelled up in her eyes. "You were powerless! It was magic the whole time!" 

"It was hard to find the words." His book lay forgotten on the desk. 

"Are we friends? Did the magic force you to befriend me?" 

"No. We are friends." 

Duskfire seemed eased by the answer, but tears still fell. "It must have been awful." 

Zavilix was surprised. He thought she would be mad. He felt unpleasant when he felt her feelings, like reading her mind. He was betraying her trust, knowing what he shouldn't know and learning things about her she didn't willingly share. She once jokingly called him a gentleman, and it left him feeling uncomfortable. But there she was thinking about how he felt. 

"I don't understand." 

"I didn't know. It was magic. You aren't yourself," she responded, wiping away the tears as more fell. 

"That's not true. Without the lies, I cannot hide myself from you." 

"It should have been your choice." 

"It's better for you that it wasn't." 

"You’re wrong! You don't want my pity, I know, but losing your power in such a way... I can imagine how it feels to be weak, but how hard it must be for you to be with me! Doesn't it make you angry?" 

Zavilix looked physically strained against the magic at this point. He choked out the answer to her question through gritted teeth, "I-I was at first. But things changed." 

Duskfire noticed his struggle. When the realization dawned on her, she snapped her hands to cover her mouth. Her eyes were wide. "I'm so sorry! I'm sorry I'm asking you so many questions!" she said while muffled. Zavilix felt anxious. This would inevitably change how she saw him. They wouldn't be able to speak freely with each other ever again. How would she act knowing this power over him? Things were changing and he didn't like change. 

"It must be awful" she repeated. Duskfire felt guilty. Had she known that magic compelled him to speak, and to say things he would have rather not said... "To suffer like that in silence... I'm so sorry." She recounted all the times he confided in her, remembering the question that compelled him to do it. 

Zavilix looked at his boots. Vulnerability filled him, and it made him very anxious. A daedra should not know weakness. 

"Surely there's a way to break the spell," she said flatly, trying not to activate the spell with a question. The part of his brain that thought she would abuse her power over him was shrinking. 

"I have looked into it, but our circumstance seems novel. Or, there isn’t a record of it happening before," he shared freely. 

"I should have been doing more research about this on my side. I'm really sorry, Zav." The nickname filled his heart and hollowed it at the same time. "Our time is almost up, I can feel it pulling," she said with sad eyes. Their goodbyes were often jovial, but this time she said, "I'll miss you." 

The words filled his head with clouds as she was pulled further into the void.


	4. Chapter 4

Back in Nirn, Duskfire woke gradually. Slipping out of the void and back into herself became much more pleasant as she got more practice. The Necromancer's room came into view and she became conscious. 

All was quiet except her thoughts. She wanted so badly to tell him how she felt then, but news of the compulsion spell shattered the possibility. They were friends, he had told her that much, but the chance that he returned her feelings felt suddenly very slim. And she couldn't even ask him how he felt about her! 

She began thinking to herself in earnest. What are the characteristics of their nightly meetings? They were magical in nature, that was for sure, but were also magically binding Zavilix to her. In this way, she thought, it was like she was summoning him like the powerful conjurers she read about. Instead of controlling his actions, the bind was different. She could ask him a question and he would answer truthfully. He could not lie to her. A strange part of the spell allowed him to feel what she felt. Duskfire felt embarrassed at the thought. Could he already know what she felt? Surely, he would have said something, so she put the thought away. A simple solution to the problem was to never visit him again. Part of her knew this to be the best for Zavilix. She thought before that her visits are surely as dangerous for him if he got caught as they are for her. Now, learning about the spell that took his power of choice away, it added a new level of unhealthy. When she said she'd miss him, she meant it. 

Her heart felt heavy. Even as naive as she was, a romance with a dremora was near impossible and obviously unheard of. The thing was, when she was with him, she felt like they could do impossible things. She felt very powerful around him, and that feeling had been rare throughout her entire life. She knew deep down that things with Zavilix would probably end tragically, but did it have to hurt this badly? She promised herself not to visit him again, at least until she could learn more about the meetings and find a stop to the spell. 

Duskfire joined the Mages Guild. There was a guild hall in each major city, which was responsible for each school of magic. She was thankful that the Chorrol hall specialized in Conjuration. What Zavilix could not teach her, she would surely learn there. Athragar, an elderly Bosmer, was the head of the Chorrol guild, and gave her the test for admittance into the guild. 

"In order for me to grant you membership into our guild," Athragar began, "you must prove to be a measurable level of usefulness. What is the most powerful spell you know, conjuration or otherwise?" 

Duskfire hadn't expected the test to be so direct. How would she know which ones he would consider powerful? "Uh, I'm not sure," she said plainly. 

"Hm." Athragar seemed displeased. "You said you specialized in conjuration. Can you at least summon a skeleton?" 

"Oh! Yes!" Duskfire concentrated on the spell. She gathered the summoning magic within her hands and threw the portal between them. A skeleton rose out from the portal and stood, awaiting command. She looked to Athragar for approval. He didn't seem very impressed. 

"I see. Can you summon a scamp?" 

"Yes." When she opened another portal and a scamp appeared, Athragar audibly gasped. 

"Y-You... it's a scamp! And a skeleton!" 

"Yeah... I didn't know they were so impressive," she said scratching the back of her head. If this was impressive, she didn't know what to think of the guild. 

"No! I mean, yes you are plenty powerful by summoning either, but... you don't seem to know what you've done, do you? 'Duskfire' you said your name was?" He asked, seemingly flustered. 

"Yeah?" 

"Y-you've summoned two creatures at once," he said. "I've only seen that once before, and I'm nearly 600 years old. Who is your tutor?" 

Duskfire was at a loss for words. She'd summoned plenty of scamps and skeletons separately under the tutorship of Zavilix, but it never dawned on her to summon both at the same time. "Oh, uh, no one," she lied. 

While living in the guild, Duskfire rose through the ranks of the Chorrol Mages Guild rather quickly. Athragar was a fair man and didn't want to give her special treatment for her 'natural talent' as he described it (she never did tell anyone about Zavilix), so she progressed from the bottom as most newcomers did. Jobs were very similar to what one would do for the Fighters Guild, but sometimes utilized her magical knowledge. She had become a powerful conjurer and learned about alteration from Athragar. She became Athragar's right hand woman, doing quests for Chorrol's lord and sometimes traveling to the neighboring cities of Cyrodiil. She never did return to the Necromancer's cave and therefore hadn't seen Zavilix for months. She desperately wanted to see him, to talk with him, even to touch him even though she was barely brave enough to do it once before. She learned a little more about the nature of binding, the foundation of conjuration, which she studied eagerly to further her theory about her trips to the void. So far, what Zavilix had said about their meetings was true; there hadn't been any record of it happening before. On one hand it made their friendship seem incredibly rare and special. On the other, she sometimes felt she would never find a way to break the spell on her friend. During a late night while studying in the guild's third floor library, Athragar approached her. 

"It's a bit early to be studying, don't you think?" he asked jokingly. 

Duskfire wasn't sure why it was funny, but when she looked up, she noticed her candle had burned out and the sunlight in the windows. "I lost track of time. Did I wake you?" 

"No, no. I sleep too heavily for your page-turning to wake me up. But now that I have you here," he continued, "we have something to discuss." 

"In that case, please sit with me. What's going on?" 

Athragar sat tenderly, his old age making itself known in his knees and hips. "Well, Duskfire. I think you've outgrown our little guild." 

She had known this was coming for a while now. It had been 9 months since joining, and the guild was home. "Well, if you think so, Athragar" she said coyly. Around them, the other guild members were rising, heading down to the dining room on the first floor for breakfast. 

"Yes. Usually a member of your rank would move on to the next city, perhaps Bruma or Skingraad, to earn your recommendation for admission to the Arcane University. I sent one on the Chorrol hall’s behalf a little over a week ago, but I received a letter back yesterday." 

"And?" Duskfire asked, standing from her seat. As far as she knew, it was unusual to receive a letter from the AU in response to a recommendation. 

"Well, it seems they've heard of your many accomplishments in service to Chorrol. They would like you to attend right away, foregoing the other hall recommendations." 

Duskfire squealed with joy. "Oh, Athragar! Oh, the Nine!" She gave him an excited but gentle hug. "Thank you, Athragar! You must be so upset they're giving me special treatment." 

"I am a little surprised, but truthfully, your ability would be wasted in the other halls. I think it's fair, since you've worked harder than most of my pupils. It's time for you to learn more than what I can teach you. You have a knack for Alteration. Remember that Conjuration is your strong suit, but the other schools will certainly help in whatever you're trying to figure out," he said with a wink. She never told anyone about her research project, but Athragar, in all his wisdom, must have figured out long ago that she had more motivations besides rising through the ranks of the Mages Guild. Athragar left after giving her a congratulatory pat on the shoulder, heading to breakfast like everyone else. Being left alone, Duskfire took time to reflect. 

Although the nine months seemed to go by quickly, she felt she had learned a lot. She could now summon more advanced creatures like Daedroth and Fire Atronachs, but never more than two at a time. She learned more about the Deadlands, as well as other realms of Daedric Princes, and how, historically, people of Nirn have travelled to them. Five-hundred years ago there was the Oblivion Crisis, in which huge portals of fire called Oblivion Gates popped up all over the world. Daedra in all forms were unleashed to pillage and plunder, spreading destruction as their Daedric Prince commanded. She wondered distantly if Zavilix had been there, and if it was what he meant when he said he was a murderer. He’d had a long life, but was 500 years within a dremora’s lifespan? 

Some books contained accounts of the few people who had entered the Gates and survived, most notably one from Ilend Vonius, a Kvatch soldier who survived the opening of the first Gate in Cyrodiil and had the most experience with the Gates. He described the Deadlands as a volcanic waste. Lava oceans surrounded an island containing a several towers with terrible, thorned architecture. The top chamber of the biggest tower contained a Sigil Stone which kept the Gate opened. Some heroes would venture inside to take the Stone and be teleported back to Nirn, closing the gate forever. Evil creatures like Daedroths, Storm Atronachs, Spider Daedra, Xivilai, and Dremora patrolled the towers. Deadly plants like harrada vines and spiddal stick flowers littered the ground as natural traps. The skies never darkened but were instead occupied by an endless red storm. The air smelled of sulfur. This made sense to Duskfire, who summoned scamps native to the Deadlands that smelled like that. Vonius went on to say that not every Gate opened to the same island. When Martin Septim turned into the dragon form of Akatosh and defeated the prince Mehrunes Dagon, the Gates shut and have yet to be reopened. It was unlikely she would be able to reopen one. And, there would be no guarantee that it would lead to Zavilix. There would be no guarantee that she would survive whatever was on the other side. 

It felt like a dead end, so after much deliberation and frustration, she moved on to learn more about bindings in conjuration. The bind that Zavilix and she had was unheard of. Even the most powerful conjurer could not prevent the dremora she summoned from lying and tricking her, most summonings resulting in the death of the summoner. A dremora felt the will of their conjurer which prevented them from outright killing her, and instead killed her enemies. Regardless, Duskfire thought that this would be her best shot, however dangerous. If she was able to summon him, and release him from his bind to her, then he would be free to do as he chose. But, there was the problem of returning him to his home. As awful as the place sounded, she wasn’t sure he would want to leave the Deadlands for her friendship. The Chorrol Mages Guild did not house skilled enough conjurers to teach her the spell to summon a dremora from the Deadlands, so she had been hoping to gain admission to the Arcane University. The AU housed the most advanced spellcasters and libraries of Cyrodiil, and she was itching to learn more. Tomorrow she would hire a carriage to take her east to the Imperial City, where the AU was built.


	5. Chapter 5

Zavilix didn’t know how to feel. The last words from her lips had been ‘I’ll miss you,’ but that had been three months ago. The first night the void-tear did not appear, he did not feel too concerned. She had a life, after all, outside of him and his tutelage. But by the third night, he was convinced she was dead. He believed she could hold her own with her scamps and skeletons, but what if she ran out of magicka? What if the Necromancer returned to finish her experiments? He was worried but felt she would return eventually. After three months, he felt completely abandoned. He knew that telling her about the compulsion spell would change their friendship, but he did not expect her to disappear from his life altogether. She would never stop surprising him. 

After the fourth month Zavilix tried to forget about her. Tortuous night after tortuous night spent almost sleepless thinking about her or dreaming--when he did dream--about her. He tried to forget the feeling of her hand in his when they saw each other for the second time. He covered his ears when his brain remembered the sound of her laugh. He could not stand anything which stole that pale green that belonged to her eyes. He was so cliché and he might as well die. But, even if he did kill himself, he’d be reborn on the shores of Oblivion after more suffering than he was already experiencing. There were ways to end his existence, but they were near impossible to do on oneself. Mortals were lucky. 

After the fifth month, Zavilix felt almost nothing at all, other than angry at himself for being so pathetic. Ameliav got back with Xentithar, citing that Zavilix hadn’t been giving her enough attention. She was trying to be dramatic, to get a rise out of him – really, any reaction at all – because she was worried about him. He knew he was being an asshole. He wanted to be better, feel better, but couldn’t. And it just made him so angry. He couldn’t talk with anyone about what happened. They wouldn’t understand. He felt more alone than he had ever felt, not even the will of Mehrunes Dagon to comfort him. She had taken that away, too. Her words echoed in his head: Doesn’t it make you angry? 

After some more time, (really, who cares enough to keep track anyway?) Ameliav came to visit, theatrically bringing news of her fight and break up with Xentithar, as was her nature. Honestly, Zavilix was feeling better, and it was nice to have company. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Zavilix said. Feeling apologetic in more than one way. 

“Oh? I thought ‘Dremora never apologize!’” Ameliav said, imitating Xentithar’s stiff body and raucous voice. 

Zavilix laughed. It was an unfamiliar sound, even to his ears. If Ameliav was surprised, she hid it well. “Maybe you should try women,” he offered. 

“I have! But it’s not like there are many to choose from.” Ameliav said, crossing her arms. Zavilix couldn’t help but agree. They didn’t talk about what put him in such a long depressive state, probably because Ameliav didn’t want to set him off again. “You seem to be in a better mood. Did Mehrunes Dagon give you his blessing or something?” 

“Nope. I just feel better today. Sorry I’ve been an asshole lately,” he said with a shrug. 

“That’s okay, Dremora are a moody bunch. Sounds like you need a project. Have you checked the Requests lately?” 

The Requests were special tasks sent throughout the Deadlands from higher ups, usually taken on by Dremora who are hoping to be noticed and promoted. Normally he would scoff at the idea, but he had been unable to create interesting projects for himself lately. 

“I have not. Perhaps I should look.” Expecting to go alone later, Ameliav took him by the arm and pulled him toward the door. 

“Let’s check it out together!” She exclaimed. Ameliav let go of his arm once they were in front of the Tablet Keep tower doors. She didn’t need to drag him the whole way, he knew how to get there, but he suspected she was worried he’d disappear if she didn’t. When they entered, the filing system was massive. Cubbies and cabinets covered every inch of wall, all the way up to the top of the tower. Scamps busied themselves with stone tablets (paper is too fragile to survive the volcanic environment), their faces covered by floating purple runes. Magic controlled their simple minds, ordering them to do even simpler tasks. Ameliav went over to the “Requests” section and began reading off some of the tablets. 

“Needed: Research and Test... Subjects. No, no. That one won’t do it for my dear ‘Lix.” She went through a couple more, “Tower Contruction... Nope... Harrada Farmer... I don’t think so...” She was starting to look discouraged. Beside her Zavilix spotted a tablet with a yellow hue made from limestone. 

“Perhaps this one,” he said, grabbing the tablet. He read it aloud, “’Sigil Stone Reclamation and Creation. Covert Dremora needed to reclaim Sigil Stones stolen by Mundus. Enchanters needed to replace ones lost in the Mundus Invasion...’ This sounds interesting. Why do we need Sigil Stones suddenly?” 

“You mean you don’t know?” Ameliav looked worried. 

“No, please tell me.” 

“Mehrunes Dagon is planning another invasion into Nirn. Shouldn’t you know that through that strange little connection you all have with him?” 

Zavilix froze. “Oh, my.” He tried to think of a lie. “I guess I didn’t make the connection right away. Of course, we need Sigil Stones to invade Mundus! I forgot.” 

Ameliav rolled her eyes. For now, she seemed convinced. 

Crisis averted, he returned his attention to the tablet. “It says to speak with a commander rank to be issued a transfer. I’ve never travelled to another island before.” 

“Of course you choose the one that will steal you away from me,” she huffed. “A change of scenery might do you some good. Can’t say Xentithar has been going any easier on you since your... well... moment,” she seemed regretful bringing it up. 

“That guy has never treated me any different since the first time I met him. And that was 300 years ago. He’s always been awful. Looks like I’ll have to speak with him to get myself a transfer, though. Any advice on how to get my way with him?” 

“If I knew that, we’d still be together.” 

Ameliav and Zavilix reluctantly walked out toward the Flesh Monolith tower, where Xentithar worked. When the doors opened, Zavilix realized he’d never been inside and followed Ameliav’s lead, suddenly thankful for her escort. She led him up the stairs through the lobby, opening a door with the name “XENTITHAR” engraved in daedric. Well then. He supposed he could have figured it out without her. 

“Xen...?” Ameliav called meekly. Inside the room was what one might expect: several torture devices installed in one corner, a large cot, a bench along a window, a small armory, and a table topped with tablets. In the center was a stand and a glass orb used to magically communicate between islands. He’d never used one before, but he assumed you could see the faces of the people you communicated with within the glass. Xentithar walked into view. 

“What are you two doing here?” He seemed annoyed already. 

“I’m here to apply for a transfer, Commander,” Zavilix said. 

After a moment of sizing Zavilix up, Xentithar spoke. “I’ll fill out the forms.” 

Zavilix was surprised. “Really?” 

“Yeah, are you dense? I guess you haven’t noticed, but I hate your fucking guts. I’ve been trying to get you to transfer for 300 years. Where to?” 

Oh. Zavilix handed over the limestone tablet. “I’d like to apply for this Request.” 

Sitting down at the table to fill out a tablet, Xentithar spoke, “It’s about time you do something useful with your pathetic life. I’m almost impressed, so don’t fuck it up. You’ll be transferred tomorrow. Leave me forever now.” 

Zavilix did as he was told, Ameliav following closely behind. Outside the tower, Zavilix almost cheered. He hadn’t felt so accomplished in some time. And, something new was awaiting him. Why did it take him 300 years to leave this horrid place? 

“Thank you, my dear friend,” he said to Ameliav. Her green lips pulled into a smile to match his, and she nodded. 

The next day, a daedric ship pulled onto the shore. Dremora and scamps left the boat hauling supplies. When Zavilix saw a dremora who looked like he was the head, he walked over to introduce himself. 

“Under the will of the King. I’m Zavilix.” 

“Praise the Prince of Destruction. I’m the captain.” Zavilix noticed dark circles around his eyes. 

“I filed for transfer.” 

“Yes, yes,” he said sleepily. “I’ve been informed. Follow me and I’ll get you settled. Have you been on a ship before?” 

“Yes, but not a daedric one.” Zavilix assumed it would be a similar experience. He followed the captain up the ladder. 

“Part of the Invasion, then? Lucky you,” the captain yawned. 

“Yes. The oceans are made of water there.” The image of brown waves flashed in his mind, but Zavilix brushed it away. 

“So I hear. Sounds like an awful place.” 

Zavilix didn’t respond. 

As it turns out, lava is thicker than water, and travel by ship is much slower in the Deadlands than Nirn. Instead of relying completely on sails and wind, a large turbine spun underneath the water to speed up the process. The mechanisms were heavily inspired by Dwemer machines, one sailor told Zavilix. Before then, ship traveled took even longer. The sailor described the trips now as quick. Zavilix had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He supposed the Daedra weren’t known for their innovation. 

“How long until we reach the next island?” Zavilix asked the sailor. 

“About a month,” he replied. “If all goes smoothly,” he added. 

During that time, Zavilix had a constant reminder of his time in Nirn. He hadn’t lied when he said he’d been on a ship before. He remembered the news that his island would be next to receive a Gate. The Sigil Stone had been installed months prior, and the Invasion had begun already. Five-hundred years ago him and his troupe had been excited to see Mundus and destroy everything in their path, the will of their Prince had them drooling for destruction. When they entered the portal, they had appeared near the western shore of Cyrodiil, a few miles north of a city called Anvil. An unlucky group of sailors had been docked when they arrived, and they died horrifically. At the time, it was of no importance to kill them, because they weren’t important. The ship was seized, and his troupe sailed the seas to raze the nearby islands. 

Zavilix thought about how it felt to be free from His will. It was terrifying at first. Everything he had done to please his king felt foreign, and guilt tinged the memories. Then the loss made him feel lonely. Now, being free from his master was liberating. The feeling filled him as the ship slowly rocked towards lands unknown. He wondered if any dremora before him had felt this way. A free dremora must be a very rare thing. And what to do with freedom? As he looked fondly at the lava sea, the wavy texture struck a cruel chord straight into the pit of his stomach.

At first, he’d been able to brush it away, but he found his resilience waning mercilessly. The orange-red magma was replaced by brown strands as a scary thought emerged: if he left his island and never returned to his lab, would he ever see her again? A mass of wavy hair began to gather, and he tried to look away. His heart began to drum in his ear. Perhaps she would not follow him. Good riddance he tried desperately to tell himself, and a hundred huge, pale arms emerged from the ocean of brown hair, sending a thrill down his spine at the sound. The fingers of the closest hands bent backwards suddenly, palms out, grabbed him up, and thrust him upward. Good riddance he pleaded to himself, tears streaking his cheeks as he struggled to pull himself free. A mass of hair pulled upward like a tsunami. The many sickly white hands cracked and popped as their joints bent in unnatural directions, the sound creating a kind of percussive symphony in tandem with his heartbeat. The fingers pulled him towards the tall mountain of hair, and its shadow soon loomed over him. He could hear a hum coming from the monster, or perhaps it came from within his own head. Movement from within the tresses filled him with horror before the wet strands split to reveal a rolling green eye, its hideous diameter easily tripling the length of his body. The pupil dilated when it found him, and he was paralyzed. He recalled his words moments before: free from his master. He would never be free.


End file.
